


He Wants to Buy Me a Drink?

by njgirl0976



Category: Original Work
Genre: Awkward chatting, Drinks, F/M, Flirting, fandom references, nerd moments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-09
Updated: 2016-11-09
Packaged: 2018-08-29 23:44:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8510338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/njgirl0976/pseuds/njgirl0976
Summary: It's not easy to be a Velma in a room full of Daphnes.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I posted this original work under my pseudonym, but that seemed stupid. Why should I hide? Enjoy!

Bars are not my thing. Bookstores are my thing. Libraries are my thing. Museums are my thing. Bars -- with their loud music, sweaty gyrations, and desperate hook-ups -- are definitely _not_ my thing. Best Friend finally convinced me to remove myself from the loveseat and dragged me to the bar. She wanted me to change my clothes, but I told her if she wanted me to go, she had to either take me or leave me the way I was.

Best Friend left me at the table to dance with Random Stranger Guy and I nursed my beer. God, I wanted to leave. I wanted to leave so badly. I shredded the damp napkin under my beer to bits, glad I was invisible.

“Hi there.”

I looked up, shocked. A tall, tanned bald guy with warm hazel eyes, a goatee, and a toothpaste commercial smile stood in front of me. I glanced around. Was he talking to me? He was smiling at me. He was standing next to me. He _had_ to be talking to me. Right?

“Umm … hi?” I replied.

“Buy you a drink?” he asked. His broad Australian accent was dizzying, as was that smile.

“Who? Me?” I asked, surprised.

“Yeah, you.”

“Uhh … I guess so?”

I must have looked really perplexed because his next question was, “Why do you look so confused?”

“Well, um … uh …” I paused, not knowing what to say to this gorgeous man standing in front of me. I mean, how could I ask him why he would want to buy _me_ a drink? I’m a Velma in a room of Daphnes. I’m a Mary Ann in a room of Gingers. How on God’s green earth did he pick me--short, round-bodied, frizzy brown hair, glasses -- over all the beautiful women standing around us? I guess it was because I looked sad and pathetic and didn’t have a full glass in front of me. “Um … well,” I stammered. “I guess it’s because I’m a Velma in a room of Daphnes?”

The stunning man in front of me arched one perfect eyebrow over eyes so hazel/blue/green/amber that they looked like Tiffany glass. “What?”

His Australian accent was making me sweat. Dear god, he was Australian. A real Australian, not a fake Outback Steakhouse Australian. A real, live Aussie. I was trying to keep myself under control.

“Wait. Are you serious?” he asked me. He set his bottle down and sat down on the stool next to me.

“Yeah. I’m completely serious,” I assured him. “I am literally the only Velma in a room of Daphnes.”

“If it weren’t for Velma, nothing would get done now, would it now? I mean, she was the one with all the brains. All Fred did was build the traps. All Daphne was just bait. And we can all agree the Shaggy and Scooby were terminally useless.”

I stared at him. I almost fainted. Was he serious? Did he just really explain the entire thesis of Scooby Doo to me as a validation of buying me an alcoholic beverage at a bar that I didn’t even want to be at?

“Okay … well …” I said awkwardly. Awkward is sort of my forte. “I guess a beer could work.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” he grinned at me. Man, his teeth were frigging white. Like toothpaste commercial white. “What kind of beer?”

“I have absolutely no idea whatsoever,” I replied honestly. I was being completely honest. I had no idea what kind of beer I should drink with a man so ridiculously handsome, he was making my eyes sweat. “Why don’t you surprise me?”

“Right. I’ll be right back, love. Don’t go nowhere.”

“I couldn’t even if I wanted to.” I was pretty much numb from the waist down.

And then he walked away.

While I was trying to compose myself and understand exactly what happened in this bizarre-o universe I seemed to have fallen into, Best Friend ran over to me. She was gorgeous. She was a Daphne. Long blonde hair, blue eyes, tall, busty, tan. Every man’s fantasy. Well, every man except for this crazy Australian guy who seemed to think I was the hottest thing next to … well, next to every other girl in the entire room.

“What’s going on?” she asked me. She was literally blinking so fast, I was pretty sure she was having a stroke. I mean, she’d been my best friend for like 12 years and I don’t think she’s ever seen a guy voluntarily talk to me, except for the times they wanted me to introduce them to her. “What’s going on with that guy?”

“He’s buying me a drink.” Even saying it out loud didn’t make it feel real. I still couldn’t wrap my mind around the idea that this man, this gorgeous man, was getting me a beer.

“Why?” Best Friend asked.

Don’t get me wrong: I love my best friend but she can be cruel sometimes. But that’s okay, because I can be just as cruel right back to her.

“Oh, gee, thanks, best friend,” I snapped.

“No, seriously. Why? Why is he buying you a drink?” Best Friend’s insistence at being answered was mostly fueled by the 4 Malibu Baybreezes she had drank.

“Okay, buddy, seriously? You’re making me feel like shit right now,” I told her.

“No! It’s just--I can’t--in _that_ outfit?” Best Friend’s blue eyes swam blearily.

I mean, she wasn’t being mean. I think we were both trying to wrap our brains around the situation.

“I know, right?” I said, trying not to sound like I was completely out of my element, which I--of course--was. I mean, I don’t exactly dress like a sexpot anyway but the fact I was wearing jeans, a grey tee-shirt and Converse in a room full of girls like they just stepped off the runway in Milan screamed that I didn’t fit in.

We both glanced over at him. His back was to us as he ordered us drinks. God, he was even hot from the back (and I’m not just talking about his ass, which was so high and round that it looked like it was sculpted by Renaissance artisans). His back muscles and the way his shirt was clinging to his shoulders was ovary-exploding material. Like supernaturally hot.

{ _ooo,_ _supernatural_ _. i should watch a few episodes of that when i get home. stop! focus!_ }

He turned around and caught me watching him, prompting him to rev up a high-voltage smile and prompting me to blush like someone lit my face on fire.

“All right. He’s coming back,” I said to Best Friend. “Get lost before you distract him with your rack.”

“Yeah, I can see that--Damn, he’s _fine_.” Best Friend grabbed her glass. “Thank you, friend. Please leave.”

“Okay, I’m gonna go, like, right over there.” Best Friend pointed to the table next to mine. “I want to hear every word.”

“Great,” I replied. “Because I’m gonna need you to feed me flirty lines like Cyrano did for Christian.”

Best Friend stared blankly. “Sweetie, I totally didn’t get that. It was a total nerd thing.” And then she scurried off to the next empty table over as Australian Dreamboat weaved his way back to me.

Australian Dreamboat put a glass of beer in front of me and perched on the stool next to me before scooting it closer. My god. Fuck. Was he a real human?

“Hey, who’s that?” he asked, nodding to Best Friend, who was so obviously listening she might as well have been holding a giant cone to her ear with her head cocked toward our table.

“My best friend,” I answered. “She’s a Daphne.”

He appraised her, sort of how you would appraise a horse before you bought it. “Yeah, I could see how you could call her a Daphne,” he agreed pleasantly. “She looks like bait.”

Unfortunately, I was taking a sip of my drink when he said that and promptly snorted beer up my nose.

“I have no idea how to respond to that,” I thought. Actually, I thought I had thought it but I had said it out loud and Australian Dreamboat burst out laughing. A handsome man laughing at a joke I made. It was unprecedented. Is it Friday the 13th? What is going on here?

“What kind of beer is this?” I asked, desperate to make conversation.

“It’s Australian. It’s really good. Take another sip.”

“Oh, god. Is it Fosters’?” I asked, shuddering.

“No,” he said witheringly. “That’s not Australian beer. That’s American beer.”

I took another sip. It was cold. It was beer. Honestly, all beer tastes the same to me, but I smiled nonetheless and mouthed, “Good.” He seemed satisfied with my appreciation. He relished his own glass like all Australians relish their beer.

{ _okay, i have no idea why i would even say something like that since this is the first real australian i’d ever met in my entire life_ }

“So, what’s your name?” I asked. I figure this should be the next question in my flirty repertoire. I was running low on topics already.

“Jody,” he replied confidently.

“Jody,” I responded. “Your name is … Jody. But Jody is a _girls’_ name.”

Like I said, awkward is my forte.

“Joseph David McCullough, actually,” Jody added. “Jody’s a kiddie nickname that sorta stuck around.”

Joseph David McCullough fixed me with an intense stare, his brilliant Tiffany glass eyes boring into my dull brown ones. I knew he was waiting for me to say my name, but I was so transfixed by his stare, my tongue forgot how to work for a few minutes. Or an eternity. I couldn’t remember which.

“My name is Anne. With an E,” I added for my own amusement and benefit.

“Anne with an E. I like it. So, Anne with an E, how come you don’t have red hair?”

“What?” Did he just make an Anne of Green Gables reference? “Um … um … um … what?” I stuttered.

Oh, for fuck’s sake, kill me now. I couldn’t even breathe from my complete lack of intelligence. Best Friend was having a heart attack at her table because I was so obviously and spectacularly failing at being adorable and charming.

“Anne of Green Gables? Anne Shirley? Red haired orphan girl?” Jody was really amused at my reaction. “Any of this making sense or do I sound like an idiot?”

“Oh, no. God, no. You sound like the absolute furthest thing from an idiot ever in the history of always,” I reassured him. The tiny worried lines in between his perfectly arched eyebrows relaxed and we smiled at each other.

It was then I noticed just how tall Jody was sitting on his stool so close to me. He towered over me, even seated. He smelled amazing too, like soap and cologne and warm skin.

“Jody, how tall are you?”

“6’2”. I’m one of the shortest in my family. Even my sister’s 6’1”.”

6’2”. My last boyfriend was 5’6” to my 5’2”. I always felt like we looked like two dorky pygmies.

“Right,” I breathed. “Do you surf?”

“Not anymore. But I do play guitar.”

“And your eyes? They’re real?”

Jody burst out laughing. “They’re not contacts. I’m Irish. It happens. When I had hair, I was ginger too.”

“So, you’re always bald?” I asked, my voice shaking.

“Yeah,” Jody sounded wary. “What’s with all the weird questions, Anne with an E?”

“I’m just trying to figure out if you’re a real person or a siren,” I replied, feeling a bright red blush explode onto my face. I smirked at myself and looked up at him.

Jody was nodding slowly, a smile spreading across his lips, curling them up in the corners. He looked flattered and amused and really, really interested in my extreme awkwardness.

“A siren?” he asked, his accent caressing his sarcastic tone kinda seductively.

Well, there was no point in stopping now. I was halfway down the road to CrazyTown. Might as well finish the drive and see if he gets out before I stop the car.

“Yeah, a siren. A demon being, takes the form of whatever its victim finds most attractive,” I answered, my voice trailing off as I heard the words coming out of my mouth. “Oh, my god, Anne. Please. _Stop talking_.”

“What do you do for work, Anne with an E?” Jody asked me, blithely ignoring my ramblings.

“I’m take care of old people,” I said. “What do you do?”

Jody laughed. “I don’t hunt supernatural beings, if that’s what you mean. My last name ain’t Winchester, after all.”

I almost fell out of my chair. Joseph David McCullough was literally the perfect man. There was no way this night was going to get any better. I needed to end it. And fast.

“Well, Jody, this has been really great, but I’m starting to think you may be a set-up,” I started. “Like someone is doing this as a colossal joke.”

Jody’s face went white. He looked shocked and hurt and insulted. Yeah, I can’t believe I just said that either.

“Really?” he asked. “I come over, try to chat you up, buy you a drink because you look like a nice, normal girl I could have a _real_ conversation with. And you say that to me? That’s kind of messed up, Anne with an E.”

I must have looked stunned, because I felt like I looked stunned.

“Wait a second. You really just came over to me, on your own volition?”

“Listen, sweetheart,” Jody said, taking my hand. “You’re pretty and have a nice smile. You looked normal and I was tired of being chased about by girls dressed like whores. Can’t you just believe I wanted to get to know you better?”

He got up to walk away. Even angrily standing up, he was hotter than any other guy I’d ever seen before in my life.

“Nononononononononono!!” I cried out, desperately grabbing at the air that he just left. Jody turned to face me. “Please don’t go. I’m so sorry. I just--look, no one’s ever bought me a drink or talked to me unless they were trying to hook up with my friends. Please don’t go. I’m awkward and short and chubby and pathetic and I really, really want a hot guy to talk to me.”

Yup. Uh-huh. I said that out loud.

“All right.” Jody sat back down and took my limp, wet-palmed hand again. “Now, let’s start this over again.” I curled my fingers in the palm of his hand and smiled slowly. “Hi, I’m Jody. And here’s a beer.”

“Hi, I’m Anne. With an E. And thanks for the beer.”


End file.
